


Vows

by Abbie



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Divergent After Season 2, F/M, Fake Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Marriage of Convenience, Not Season 3 Compliant, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5868451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/pseuds/Abbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Siege of Starling City by Slade Wilson, threats and pressures force Oliver and Felicity to take desperate measures to protect their secrets, their team—and their very lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rule the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [always_a_queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_a_queen/gifts).



> Begun from a Tumblr prompt by always_a_queen. Likely to grow to a collection of out-of-order interconnected drabbles. I really don't know what I'm doing with this yet, have patience.

****

This wasn’t how Felicity had thought it would go. How she had thought— _any_  of it would go.

She’d never imagined walking down an aisle as packed by socialites as people she actually  _recognized,_ flashbulbs of hungry photogs going off from the back of the tent. She’d never pictured wearing a custom-design Zuhair Murad dress—ever—in her  _life_ , though there was a part of her that never wanted the lace and satin to part from her skin.

She couldn’t have pictured that she would ever be in a wedding so stripped of her own personality and style; thrown together so quickly and professionally and _blandly_  elegantly that there was no space or time for Jewish traditions. No time even for her  _mother_  to be there.

She certainly wouldn’t have imagined standing in front of a justice of the peace opposite Oliver Queen in his crisp, precisely tailored three piece suit, her fingers trembling around the damp green stems of her bouquet until she passed it off to Thea, who raised her eyebrows at her with a sharp smile.

She took a deep breath and faced Oliver, who licked his lips and pulled his mouth into a shape approximating the joy he should be feeling on the day he wedded his fairytale Cinderella bride. His eyes were too wide; she could see his shock, the corners of his mouth too hard from determination as he reached out and took her hands.

His trembled just as finely as her own.

All of this to protect their secret—and to protect their very lives.

As the justice read serenely through the canned-romantic script, and Oliver began his stiffly-rehearsed, short vows, Felicity’s knees shook under her skirts.

What was she doing. What were  _they_  doing?

They’d never even been on a date. Oliver might never have  _asked_  her.

He squeezed her hands, and she realized it was her cue to begin her own vows.

For just a moment, her mind screamed empty panic, her mouth open, lips shaking.

Behind her, Thea delicately cleared her throat, and Felicity remembered the younger girl’s fierce advice as she helped prepare Felicity to get through this impossible farce and whatever the unforeseen future might bring.

_“Remember,” Thea had told her, gently taking Felicity’s chin between her neatly manicured thumb and forefinger as Felicity fought against the tears in her eyes. “Tomorrow you’re going to be a Queen. And you’re going to hold your head high.”_

_She guided Felicity’s chin up, pushed on her shoulder til Felicity straightened her back._

_“Like you rule the world.”_

Felicity took a steadying breath, focused on Oliver’s eyes, and held her head high straight through the “I do”s.


	2. First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted on Tumblr by sickandtwisteddoc, we see the events that spur Oliver and Felicity into this situation.

“We suspected Waller would make a move after everything that went down with Slade,” Diggle said tiredly, leaning against Felicity’s desk, arms folded.

“I just didn’t expect it to be _this_ ,” Oliver sighed, scrubbing his hand over the top of his head, brows furrowed deeply.

“Like we needed another problem on our plate,” Roy grumbled, scowling at his red leather jacket as he zipped it onto the mannequin. “Malcolm Merlyn being alive and trying to turn Thea to the dark side wasn’t bad enough? Oh, and let’s add to that the whole thing where she knows the big secret, too.”

Oliver grimaced at the reminder, eyes slowly closing. Thea had described Malcolm as frightening and insistent when she had encountered him on the train platform. After all the lies and uncomfortable truths—and the losses and stresses—of the past few months, Malcolm’s improbable reappearance in their lives had prompted Oliver to read his sister in, at long last, on how he’d been spending his nights.

He hadn’t particularly _wanted_ to, but Thea had too many clues already, thanks to Roy, and too many questions to leave unanswered. Oliver needed Thea to trust him if he was going to keep Malcolm from forcibly assuming his role as her father, and it had become painfully clear that she would be be fed no more lies or half-truths.

Not after they had already cost so much.

“I’m sorry,” Felicity whispered into the grim quiet. She slumped in her chair, head bent and one hand against her chest. Heads turned to her in surprise, and she looked up at her team with teary eyes. “This is all my fault.”

Oliver stared at her, flummoxed. “What?”

Diggle raised a quelling hand towards her. “Felicity, no, that’s not—”

“It _is_ ,” she insisted fiercely, leaning forward, chin jutting out stubbornly. “If I hadn’t been so stupid as to get caught by the _SCPD_ ,” she scoffed, “last year, none of this would be happening.” Her hands tossed in the air and she threw herself against the back of the chair. “Or I could have had half a brain and gone into their system to ‘accidentally’ lose my file in their systems! Corrupted their evidence, _something_.”

John frowned at her, “Hate to break it to you, Felicity, but you’re human. There’s kind of been a lot going on this year. We’ve all let things slip through the cracks.”

Head swivelling snakelike, Felicity glared at Digg, who raised his hands defensively. “It’s not anybody _else’s_ fuckups Amanda Waller is hanging over our heads like the Sword of Damocles.”

Oliver shoved out of his chair and shook his head, left hand hanging at his side, fingers chafing rhythmically. “It’s not that simple, Felicity. Waller would have latched onto any excuse. If not this one, she would have found some other leverage. I—I can promise you that.” He winced, eyes going hollow with a distance that stole him away to somewhere in the past. “She’s put me under her thumb before. Now that I’ve proved to be a threat, she’d do whatever she has to to get me back under her control.”

“Great, fine, I blame you _both_ ,” Roy snarked, eyes rolling. “Now what’re we gonna do about it? She’s gunning for the whole operation here, not just you.”

“But it’s _me_ she’s using to push us into a corner,” Felicity stressed, fingers splayed over her sternum. “I’m the one she could have charges filed against. _I’m_ the one she’s threatening to call Oliver to testify against. _I’m_ the one who’s going to get us all exposed, because thanks to my mistakes, my status as accomplice to the Arrow is practically an open secret just waiting to be exposed.”

Diggle frowned harder, straightening away from the desk and turning to apply that frown to Felicity from a more imposing height and angle. “You better not be making any ridiculous self-sacrifice plans. I’ve had more than enough of that from Queen.”

Oliver—too preoccupied by the idea of Felicity attempting a sacrifice play—took a step forward so he stood even with Digg, the expression he aimed at Felicity alarmed and preemptively angry. “That is not an option.”

Exasperated, eyes bright with welling tears, Felicity tossed her hands again. “I don’t hear you guys coming up with any plans! There are no _other options_ , Oliver. Because the only thing that’s _not_ an option is signing on to be Amanda Waller’s private off-books hit squad. And the only other thing my _stupid brain_ can come up with is cheesy TV tropes about getting married so we can’t be forced to testify against each other!”

Oliver rocked back on his heels, eyes wide, Diggle beside him with eyebrows slowly ascending his forehead.

Sucking in a breath that was loud in the sudden silence, Roy coughed. “Well, if your options are marrying Oliver or going to jail, I think picking jail might be a little harsh.”

Flushing, Felicity rolled her eyes and muttered, “That’s not even in the vicinity of possible.”

It was Oliver’s turn to draw attention with a sharp breath. “Why not?”

Felicity went almost comically bug-eyed, her hands clamping onto the arms of her chair as if for dear life. “ _What_.”

Diggle rounded on him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m with Digg on this.” Felicity shook herself, leaning forward. “Oliver, you _can’t_ be serious. That’s—that’s ridiculous.”

Turning half to face Diggle, Oliver raised his hand as if to stall them. “Just hear me out. You said it yourself, we don’t have better options, we don’t have _time_ , and what if—what if this could _work_?”

“Oh my god,” Roy murmured faintly, staring.

Lips pressing thin and nostrils flaring, Oliver shot him a quick dirty look before focusing again on Felicity. “I’m serious. It may make cheesy TV, but the courts not being able to make you testify against your spouse is an actual thing. I looked into a bunch of that stuff when—when Mom was on—” Oliver’s voice cracked, and he looked hurriedly away, clearing his throat. “Anyways. It’s real. Waller wants to press us with the threat of legal action, and this is an actual legal defense. But better than that, if we announce or leak an engagement to the press and then elope in like a month, we raise your profile too much for Amanda to threaten to drag you into a court spectacle without risking more attention than it’s worth it to draw.”

John stared at him, stunned. “I really hate to admit it, but that argument makes a fucked up kind of sense.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Oliver agreed fiercely, turning to him. “When you think about it, it’s actually—”

“Just _stop_!” Felicity shouted, fists beating down on the chair arms. Everyone turned to her, startled into silence, and Felicity shoved violently to her feet, the chair rolling back til it hit the desk behind her. Face flushed and jaw clenched, she took a step forward, full polka-dotted skirt swishing around her knees. “Just stop it, Oliver!” Voice roughening, choking with tears, she hissed, “ _Why_ is your instinct always to pretend to have feelings for me?”

Oliver's head pulled back as if she had slapped him. He stared at her, and Diggle and Roy shot each other desperate, awkward looks. Felicity stood, fists shaking at her sides, and glared at Oliver.

Clearing his throat, he cut his eyes quickly to Digg and said quietly, “Can you give us the room, please?”

Turning from Oliver with an exaggerate wince, John locked eyes with Roy and tipped his head sharply towards the stairs.

“Yeah, I could be not here for this,” Roy muttered, hurriedly rattling ahead of Digg up the staircase.

The door shut behind Diggle, and Felicity shifted on her feet to give Oliver her profile, arms locked tight beneath her breasts and chin jutting angrily.

Oliver sighed, stepping towards Felicity with hands up and open. “Felicity…”

She turned her back to him entirely, snorting.

Jaw clenching tight, Oliver rolled his eyes skyward as if asking for strength. Dropping his gaze to the back of Felicity’s head, he spoke softly. “This isn’t like what happened with Slade.”

Laughing quietly, humorlessly, she asked, “Isn’t it?” Closing her eyes, she shook her head and drew in a long breath through her nose. Tipping her head back to release the exhale, she let her arms release back to her sides. “We tell a lie to trick our enemies. And the lie is that you—that you love me.”

Oliver sucked in a sharp breath, eyes dropping to the floor.

“I get it,” Felicity continued, her voice dulling. “It’s to protect us. To protect _all_ of us. I just—” She laughed again, a little heartbroken. “Why is it always _this_ lie?” She turned to Oliver with a _smile_ , a thin sliver of tired sadness, eyes like lamps through rain-wet windows even as she slowly, visibly armored up before him. “It’s enough to give a girl a complex,” she joked weakly.

Oliver stared at her a long moment, hurt and sorrow thinly veiled behind a mask that tried to project calm and control. He closed the distance between them carefully, the mask burning thinner still like melting wax as something unidentifably _large_ and overwhelming lit fires in his eyes. Glancing down, he gently caught up her hands, her small fingers clasped lightly by his, and when he raised his gaze to her face again, she thought, for just a second, that he was a going to say something… powerful. Unthinkable.

Felicity’s breath caught, lips parting.

Swallowing hard, Oliver opened his mouth, a confusion of silence sitting on his tongue through the tick, tick, tick of seconds until he closed it.

Something inside of Felicity’s chest crumpled, a quiet, gentle implosion. Nothing to see here. Carry on.

She dropped her gaze to Oliver’s shirtfront and cleared her throat.

Oliver opened his mouth again, and this time his voice came out unstuck, though roughened as if it didn’t escape from his throat without a fight. “If there was any other way…” He glanced down at her hands in his, pulling his bottom lip through his teeth nervously. “If—if you can think of _anything_ else, I’m on board, but Felicity—letting you go to jail for us is not acceptable. Letting you sacrifice yourself to protect us is _not acceptable_. And we can’t let Amanda Waller win, either.”

He raised his eyes to hers and she lifted her chin a notch, as if to compensate for the tiny tremble it gave. His thumbs stroked the backs of her fingers, and he continued, “I know this is… crazy, and hardly ideal.”

She scoffed a little burbling, unexpected bark of laughter. “Isn’t that our whole lives these days? Crazy and not ideal?”

One corner of his mouth tugged up in wry sympathy. “I know. And Felicity, I know it’s a—it’s a _lot_ to ask. To ask of _you_. I’m hardly a catch.” Felicity snorted, but he ignored her. “And you have sacrificed so much to this mission— _my_ mission—”

“ _Our_ mission,” she interrupted firmly, almost angrily, and squeezed his hands.

Biting his lip against a helpless smile, he huffed amusement and nodded. “Our mission. You’re right. It hasn’t been just mine for a long time.” He stroked his thumbs over her knuckles again. “You are my partner. And this wouldn’t have to be permanent, at all. Just—just a different way of being partners until Waller stops gunning for us.”

Rolling her eyes upward, Felicity took a deep breath and muttered, “I can’t believe this is happening…”

“I know,” Oliver agreed, nodding. “But it is happening. And we don’t have much time. Just… we have enough that you could—you could think about it.” Suddenly, he lifted his fingers to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Felicity’s breath froze in her throat, and he held her eyes. Against her skin, he murmured, pleaded, really, “Will you think about it? Please just think about it.”

Tears welling anew in her eyes, Felicity let out the breath she hadn’t meant to hold, and turned her face to the side, head shaking. Finally, lips pressing together, she nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

Oliver’s face went slack in shock for a moment, but he quickly schooled it into earnest gratefulness. “Thank you.”

Pulling gently, Felicity took her hands from his and stepped unsteadily back, turning and groping as if blind for her purse on the desk by her monitors. “I just—I have to go. I have to—I need to go.”

“Of course,” Oliver breathed in a hush, stepping back and awkwardly shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

Felicity shouldered her purse and turned to cross the room in a hurry, but halted with a jerk halfway to the stairs. Not turning around, she called, “But Oliver. I need—I need _you_ to think about this too. If there’s even the remotest possibility that we’re going to do something this _ridiculous_ …” Her shoulders moved with a fortifying breath in. “I need you to be sure.”

She was heading back up the stairs immediately, and Oliver watched her ascend to the little platform, and as she punched in the exit code, he answered, “I will be.”


	3. Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by andcreation on Tumblr
> 
> Sorry about the long, long wait on this; I've been largely focusing on my main project, the Long Way Down series, and it's been a handful of rough months as well. Beyond that, I do have multiple other pieces written and even posted on Tumblr for this series, but I'm trying to post them on order here. I should hopefully not take nearly so long to give you guys the next bit.

Oliver wiped sweating palms on his jeans as he mounted the short steps to Felicity’s front door, his stomach tumbling and tangling in knots of anxiety. He licked dry lips and nervously scuffed the soles of his boots against her welcome mat.

He raised his fist to knock—then stopped short, pulling his hand away and glancing at the glowing little button of her doorbell. Should he knock or ring? When she opened the door, what would he say? How had he not thought to come up in advance with what he would _say_?

Apologize again for the situation they were in? Beg her to say yes? To _marry_ him? Or confess he was terrified and didn’t know what to do, that she was right and this was crazy?

Swearing under his breath, he reached towards the buzzer, then curled his finger into his fist and clenched his jaw, raising it again to knock— _be resolute, get your shit together, be strong for both of you, all of you_ —

The door opened in his face with an outrush of cool air, and Oliver sucked in a sharp breath, rocking back on his heels as he resisted the urge to leap backwards down the steps, pull a flechette from his jacket lining—

Felicity stood in the doorway, leaning against the door with her hand white knuckling the knob, brows furrowed as she frowned at him. “Are you coming in?”

Oliver blinked, confused. “Are you—how did you—”

“Camera.” Felicity pointed up and to the right, and Oliver followed with his eyes to spot a tiny surveillance camera secured beneath the slender overhang, angled down to view the stoop. “Security program sends me video alert to my phone when someone stands on the pressure plate.” She tapped a bare foot against the edge of the welcome mat he still stood on, and Oliver was briefly distracted by the tangerine paint on her toenails. “I built it myself.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, impressed. “Smart.”

“Well, the lives we lead, you know.” She shrugged one shoulder, but her mouth curled a little at one corner in pride. “You should come inside.”

Right. She didn’t summon him here to marvel at her constant brilliance.

Oliver swallowed thickly and nodded, following her through the door as she backed inside.

He closed the door behind him and stood there, watching her twist her fingers in the hem of her bright blue top, gaze skirting around on the floor. “Um.”

“Right,” she squeezed her eyes shut behind her glasses and shook her head, drawing a deep breath. “Um. Living room is this way.” She hooked a thumb sharply over her shoulder as if he’d never been to her apartment before, turning on her heel and heading through the arched doorway to the left of the entry. He followed, trailing her towards the couch and chairs arranged around a low coffee table.

“I’m just kind of—nervous, I mean, of course I’m nervous. You are too, right? We’re deciding our futures, kind of, or at least the next couple of years probably. And our reputations, god. You’ve thought about that, right? How if this is going to work, _everyone_ has to know? Everyone has to think we’re together, that we’re in love and getting married because we’re in love and not because a government sanctioned sociopath wants us on her explosive-bedazzled leashes?” Felicity stood in front of the couch, facing away from him, hands twisting together.

Oliver’s lips parted slowly, the world spinning suddenly and then very, very quickly grinding to a halt with the two of them at the center. “Felicity.” She jerked, turning only just a little towards him, still not quite looking at his face. “Are you—is that… yes?”

Her hands stopped. Lips shaking, she took a slow, deep breath, and finally, finally raised her eyes to meet his. “Can we sit down? I think I want to sit down for this.”

Oliver lowered himself to sit on the near end of the couch very, very carefully, his eyes never leaving Felicity’s face. She bit her lower lip and sat in the center of the couch as if her knees gave out. He leaned towards her, palms chafing at his knees.

Felicity licked her lips, opening her mouth twice before she found her words.

They weren’t the ones he was expecting.

“They’re still identifying bodies.” She dropped her gaze to her lap, ran a thumbnail over the polish tipping her index finger. “There were so many dead that they’ve had to send overflow to morgues in neighboring counties. Between the, the chaos and the records loss at city hall, and just the sheer number of people who were killed and the ones who are still missing, it could take the rest of the summer just to identify everyone who died that night. They said, on the news, they said that all the local funeral homes are booked solid with funerals and memorials through August.”

Oliver’s mouth went very dry, weight like a lead blanket settling over his shoulders, familiar as it was unwelcome.

Guilt.

Felicity raised her eyes and met his, her expression solemn and sad and… something like anger sparking behind her glasses. “It’s like the Undertaking all over again, Oliver. One year later and the city is counting corpses and running out of graves again.”

Oliver closed his eyes and tipped his face down, head tilting away. Some things were too hard to look at straight on. The truth was too often one of them. “I brought this here. Slade came for me.”

She made a noise of frustrated disgust that made him look at her again. Rolling her eyes, she pursed her lips tightly and sighed harshly. “That’s stupid. It’s bullshit and it’s wrong. Slade had a grudge against you, but Isabel was pissed about your father, and this was at least part her. And the Undertaking was Malcolm.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Actually, _all_ of this is Malcolm’s fault if you need to lay blame on just one person. He tried to kill you, and you came back to stop him, and it got everything started. He was the _worst_ , honestly, I will never understood how Thea came from _that_. Or Tommy, for that matter, Tommy was always just fine!”

Old pain throbbed in his chest and something of it must have shown on his face. Felicity grimaced and shook her head. “Anyways, I’m trying to get to the point. And the point is that for some reason, terrible things keep happening in Starling City.” He clenched his jaw, but Felicity pointed at him sharply. “Stop. Stop that. Bad things happened here before you, Oliver Queen, and they would keep happening without you, except they’d be _worse_.”

He blinked at her, surprised and a little touched, even as he still thought she was wrong.

“ _That_ is my point, Oliver.” She lowered her hands to her lap and searched his face solemnly, voice hushing a little. “You’re needed here. And I like to think—I like to think that you need me. Need all of us.”

He didn’t even think about it; his hand reached across the space between them without waiting for conscious direction, his fingers slipping under her palm to squeeze her hand. “I do. I do need you.”

She flushed, but didn’t pull her hand away.

A strange if nervous thrill fluttered on mothwings through his stomach, and he let his thumb slide back and forth along her knuckles.

“Anyways,” she whispered, voice a little unsteady. “I just… I don’t like this plan, Oliver. Getting married?” She furrowed her brows, her expression bewildered and head shaking back and forth. “It’s so—it’s just—” Her hand slipped from his as she raised both to gesture widely, like an explosion her puckered lips silently echoed. “It’s huge. And stupid. And there’s no taking it back. And I know you don’t—that we’re not—”

She cut off as sudden wetness shone in her eyes, sucking in a deep, fortifying breath as his heart set to racing and his skin flushed hot all over.

It was like standing on that beach all over again.

_Talk about unthinkable_.

He swallowed a rising lump in his throat.

Felicity cleared her throat and started again. “But what happened last year, what happened this year… it kind of puts everything into perspective. We’re _needed_. And we can’t be what Starling needs with Waller’s boot on our necks.”

Her tongue pressed between her lips, a slow wet drag as she braced her hands on the couch cushions and shuffled her weight a few inches closer. Their knees were nearly touching. Oliver focused his whole attention on her eyes as she looked at him, so serious.

“I’d rather be yours than hers.”

Oliver blinked, startling upright. “So—”

“Yes,” she interrupted in a rough hush. “I’ll—I’ll do it. If you’re sure you want—that this is the only—”

“It is.” He sighed, carefully taking her hands in his. “I’m sorry, but it’s the only thing I can think of to neutralize what she’s holding over us. She can’t force you to give evidence against me if you’re my—” his voice fell to a gravelled whisper, “—my wife.”

She held his gaze and took in a couple of deep breaths, her fingers slowly tightening around his til her grip was ironclad. Her eyes rolled towards the ceiling, chin tipping up as she sucked in another deep breath, counting near-silent back from three. “Are you sure we can do this?”

He squeezed her hands, shock that this was really _happening_ slowly numbing him around the edges, creeping inward. “I think so. I’m willing to try if you are.”

She laughed suddenly, weak and a little hysterical as she met his eyes again. “You think I can sell it?”

Something heavy thudded in his chest, beneath his heartbeat; a foreboding, looming large and uncontrollable ahead of them. However, for her he smiled, small and tight. “I think we both can.”


	4. Something Good Can Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompted by Anonymous, "success"

“You two do realize this is nuts, don’t you,” Diggle deadpanned after a long moment of quiet. He and Roy stood together, staring at Felicity and Oliver. “I mean, like coocoo for Cocoa Puffs crazy.”

Oliver huffed an irritated nasal sigh, lips pursing, but Felicity jutted her chin out and glared.

“ _You_ were the one who said this could work!” She tossed her hands. “I said it was stupid but _you_ and Oliver said it was a viable plan. Now you’re changing your mind?”

Diggle held up one hand, brows raising as he leveled a calming look on her. “Hang on, now. I did say it could work, because it could. It is _just so crazy_ , you might pull it off. But that was before, and now you two are telling me you’re actually going to go _through_ with this. I just want to make sure you’ve really considered how insane this is before you commit.”

“Literally,” Roy broke in with a scoff. “Marriage. You idiots are talking about getting married.” He tucked his chin, brows jumping high as he passed an incredulous glance from one to the other. “ _Married_. To not go to jail.”

“For _all_ of us to not go to jail,” Felicity returned heatedly, fists clenching at her sides. “Like it or not, we’re dominoes, Roy. One of us goes down, we all go down. If Waller can leverage one of us, she can threaten _all_ of us with prison. Or worse.”

He opened his mouth, but shut it a second later with a thoughtful clench of his jaw.

“Trust me,” Oliver rumbled, quiet and grim. “It would be worse. Waller would own us. We would kill for her, on her orders. We would not get to ask questions, or say no. And you hear that, you might think, okay, I can live with jail. You’d never survive the first night behind bars, she’d see to that.”

Oliver made eye contact with Digg, who rolled his lips and heaved a resigned sigh. “I can’t really argue with you there. Shit I’ve seen…” He shook his head and lifted one broad palm to rub at the back of his neck. “One way or another, Waller will pin you down in a corner or she’ll blow the corner to pieces.”

Roy grimaced at him, face blanched but chin and shoulders high with bravado. “So Oliver and Felicity dig us a tunnel out with a diamond ring?”

“Yes,” Felicity said in a small but determined voice.

Roy shook his head, but said nothing else.

“Felicity,” John focused on her, voice soft and a little pleading. “Just tell me before you do this that you’re okay with it. Okay with the pretense, with living a lie. For who knows how long.” He included Oliver with a glance. “You two are talking about _pretending_ on a huge, public scale. Making a damn spectacle of yourselves is the whole point, right? Selling the world on your fairy tale so you’re too hot for Waller to touch.” He pinned Felicity with his eyes again. “You’re really ready for everything that’s gonna take? Have you even talked about it? What about drawing lines between reality and this fiction? Setting down ground rules?”

Oliver and Felicity traded awkward, uncomfortable looks, shifting in place but holding their ground. Oliver cleared his throat. “We’re working it out.”

Digg snorted, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Great.”

“John, please,” Felicity said wearily, taking a step towards him with her hands out. “I need—I need to know you have my back on this one.”

Diggle sighed, the tense, displeased lines of his face softening helplessly as he looked down at her. He took her hands, folding his fingers into her smaller palms and squeezing. “I’ve got you covered, Felicity. Always.”

She squeezed back, eyes wet behind her glasses as she smiled gratefully up at him.

“Good.” Oliver nodded, unfolding his arms and leveling each of them with a serious, sharp-eyed stare. “Because if this thing we’re doing is going to stand any chance at success… if we all want to make it out of Amanda Waller’s crosshairs alive and with our free will, it’s going to take all of us.”


	5. A Little Truth and a Little Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by mizhines; "ring"

 

Thea stared at him with astonished eyes from the other end of the couch, coffee mug forgotten in the hand against her knee, her other hand pressed smotheringly against her mouth.

Oliver waited, ants of anxiety marching itchingly faster and faster across his skin the longer she stared. Finally, he punched an exhale through his nose, licking his lips. “Thea, _say something_.”

Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead and her head began to slowly shake back and forth. Finally, she dropped her hand, hanging her head on one side as her lips parted. “Sorry, Ollie, I just—this is _ridiculous_ , you realize that, right?”

His eyes rolled slowly shut as he let his weight slump heavily back against the couch cushions with a groan, picturing Diggle’s skeptically wrinkled brow. “Trust me. I realize.”

“I just—” she threw her empty hand up to demonstrate the absurdity. “You’re going to _marry_ her!”

His jaw clenched and he reached up to rub the back of his neck, irritation curling a ribbon through the anxiety. “Thea, please.”

She blew out a gusty breath and turned her head forward, staring across the living room of the loft apartment they’d been sharing since the manor became unlivable. Absently, she lifted her coffee and took a sip, lowered it again. “Sorry, I’m just wrapping my mind around shadowy government agencies blackmailing you into marrying your assistant.”

“ _Thea_ ,” he snapped, head turning sharply to glare at her. “Felicity is my friend. My partner.” He clenched his teeth and sighed. “And now, my fiancée.”

Thea snorted, lips curling wryly. “For better or worse?” She looked at him sideways. “Look… if you say this is what you have to do, I trust you.” He blinked at her in surprise, and she pursed her lips, brows lifting. “After all, you’re actually telling me the truth.”

He winced, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees. “After everything… I wanted you to know. I meant it. No more lies. No more secrets.”

Her smile faded and she regarded him coolly for a moment. “Good. Because I like this, big brother. You telling me the truth. Me not having to find out after the fact that everyone’s been lying to me.” Her mouth puckered on one side. “I’m working on… forgiving, still. On just being glad you’re _talking_ to me about things.”

He swallowed, throat suddenly thick with regret. “I’m sorry. I just… I wasted so much time hiding _everything_. From you. From—from Mom.”

Thea flinched and blinked away sudden tears. Licking her lips, she straightened up and put her coffee cup in the table. “You have to stop apologizing to me, Oliver. You already did that. And you’re,” she paused to clear her throat, “you’re doing the important part. Telling me the truth from now on.” She took a deep breath and clapped her palms against her knees. “Which is why I’m going to do my best to support you in this. I don’t want you to go to jail. I think you’re a hero—an idiot, but a hero. Not everyone’s gonna see it that way.”

He still felt a shocked pang every time she called him a hero. He had expected the anger, the outrage when he decided to tell Thea the truth after Roy showed him the letter that had been almost been her goodbye. But he hadn’t expected her forgiveness. He certainly hadn’t anticipated _pride_.

They sat there quietly for a beat, and then Thea asked softly, “Ollie, are you really okay with this? Marrying her?”

He sighed, falling against the couch back again, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Emotions swirled and tangled in his chest, his guts, prickled and knotted like thorny vines. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes to stare at the far away ceiling. “I’m okay enough. I trust her. And we don’t have any other options.”

Thea sighed. “That’s a great way to start a marriage,” she muttered sarcastically. He turned his head to frown at her and she waved a hand dismissively. “Stop. I said I’ll support you. I just… I hope you two actually _like_ each other, at least.” She turned to wrinkle her brow at him in curiosity and concern. “You do like each other, don’t you? You called her your friend, in Walter’s hospital room.”

Oliver found the corners of his mouth curling, just a little. “We are friends. I like Felicity very much.”

Thea narrowed her eyes on him and Oliver instantly began to regret his choice of words. Fortunately, she saw fit to be merciful, saying nothing more than what her raised eyebrow could suggest. “I guess that’s good enough.” She drew up her knees to turn sideways on the couch, facing him. “So. Tell me what you’ve got planned so far.”

He stared at her blankly, brows slowly creasing together.

Thea’s eyebrows popped high, eyelashes fluttering incredulously. “Oliver. Seriously. A wedding date? Engagement announcement? Venue, cake, guests? You have to tell people for this thing to work, right? How are you going to get the word out?”

He kept staring, the lowered hum of anxiety rising in volume to a nearing wave of panic. “Um. It has to happen soon? And, uh. I figure, the tabloids…”

“Oh my god,” Thea murmured in disbelief, entreating him to stop with a raised hand. “You are _hopeless_. Thank god for you that you have such a brilliant and helpful sister. I’m officially designating myself your wedding planner.”

“Oh god,” Oliver breathed, a stone of apprehension dropping into his gut. Thea shot him a narrow-eyed glance and he just shrugged his mouth, not very sorry.

“Do you even have a _ring_?” She asked with mild acid. He blinked at her and looked down, and she frowned. “You’re not… you’re not planning on giving her Mom’s ring. Are you?”

His head came up like she’d jerked a string. “ _No_. For—for so many reasons, no _._ ”

That ring was his _mother’s_. He would never give Felicity the ring Walter had given her, because that had—nothing to do with him. It was just a chunk of rock and metal to him. And he couldn’t give her the ring his father gave her.

It was a fake marriage. Felicity wouldn’t want something that would look so _real_. And his parent’s marriage had been… complicated. Sour.

Even if what he and Felicity were doing had been somehow the real thing, he wouldn’t want to bring any part of his parents’ tragedy into a future he meant to build with someone if he’d wanted it to last.

Thea cleared her throat, looking faintly relieved as she blinked away the glitter of more unshed tears. “That’s good. Okay.” Throwing her shoulders back, she lifted her chin and lanced him with a beaming smile. “That means, brother dear, that you and I will need to go ring shopping.”

He looked at her for a moment, and was startled by a chuckle bursting out of his chest like air escaping from a balloon. “Okay.”

She blinked in him in surprise, her smile shrinking but becoming more genuine. “Really? You’re going to let me help?”

Oliver let an answeringly genuine smile curl across his own lips, and for a moment held onto the warmth of how grateful he was that, with everything he had lost in the last six years, everything he’d broken and bent and stained, here still sat his little sister, not unchanged but so very far from broken. Thea was becoming a bright and beautiful woman, and there had been long, long days where he thought he might never get to see her become this.

At that moment, he felt that so long as he had his sister, he could handle anything.

“Yeah,” he replied softly. “I trust you.”


	6. Let's Do Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompted by julandran, "brunch"
> 
> previously published on tumblr

Felicity stepped aboveground, her head spinning with all the things she and Oliver would have to accomplish to sell their relationship to the public—plan a wedding—avoid Amanda Waller’s clutches—

She walked down the short hallway into the empty space of Verdant proper, and came back to herself as Thea stepped away from the bar and moved beside her, slipping her arm into Felicity’s.

“Hey there, Felicity. Or should I call you ‘sis’?” Thea’s smile was small and wry, her tone light and teasing, but those eyes of hers were shrewd as they cataloged Felicity’s face.

Felicity gulped under the younger Queen’s laserlike gaze, wincing and going tense. “Oliver told you?”

Thea nodded, patting Felicity’s arm as she walked her through the echoing club space towards the side exit. “He did. I’m sure you’ve got places to be, but listen, you and I should talk. Oh, don’t look like that. I can help.”

Felicity determinedly pulled up the corners of her mouth, previously sunk in dismay, and looked at Thea afresh with a calculating eye and a growing, desperate kernel of hope lighting in her chest. “You can?”

“Of course I can,” Thea scoffed, looking faintly offended. “And trust me, you’re going to need it. So let’s do brunch, tomorrow? Ten thirty? I know this great little bistro down on Broad Street.”

They stopped, reaching the door, and Felicity took  a deep breath, head tipping back and shaking as her eyes slipped closed. “Sure. Why not. I’m mar—I’m _marrying_ a Queen. I guess I’m a person who does brunch now.”

Pulling open the door for Felicity, Thea gave a smile that was strangely reassuring in its smirky brassiness and winked. “When I’m through with you, you’ll be a lot more than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more. Soon, hopefully.


	7. To Learn Familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by Anonymous, "liminal" (def: in a state of transition; occupying a position on both side of a boundary or threshold)

“Where do we even start?” Oliver asked, rubbing his palm over the harsh, fresh-trimmed bristle on the back of his skull.

He and Felicity were back on her living room couch, him wedged into the corner against the arm, Felicity with one knee on the cushions and an elbow propped on the back of the couch as she turned towards him. Below the cuffed hem of her jeans, her foot bounced absently where it hung, drawing his attention to the fine arch, the robin’s egg blue of her toenails. There was something strangely disarming about her bare feet.

She sighed, fingers slipping under her ponytail to rub at the back of her neck. “I don’t even know how to put it all in order. Thea and I were talking, and there’s just so much to do, you know?” He nodded, lips pressed to keep from frowning nervously at the idea of all that his sister and Felicity might have to talk about. She went on, “I’ve been feeding anonymous tips to trash bloggers and tabloid reporters, but there haven’t really been any bites yet. You and Thea jewelry shopping, me and Thea out ‘doing brunch’,” there was such a baffled sarcasm to her air quotes that he couldn’t help a little soundless laugh, “that’s laying some decent groundwork. And you and me are seen around together just _normally_ enough that that’s… you know, a good foundation I guess.”

“Okay,” he agreed, encouraging her, trying not to bounce his knee in restless rhythm with her foot. He wasn’t good at inaction, and all of this theory was necessary, but he needed something to _do_.

She nibbled at her bottom lip, eyes tracing back and forth over his face as color suffused her cheeks. “Thea was saying how we need to do more than that, though. And she’s right.”

Oliver’s gut clenched with nerves as he gave in and set his thumb and fingers rasping together, grounding. “More like what?” Her mouth opened as she visibly thought through the wording, but Oliver wasn’t an idiot, and got there first. “Like, go on a date? Be seen in public at Table Salt or something?”

Felicity nodded, her eyes grateful. “I can bait the hook with anonymous emails and fake Twitter gossip and all of that, but there has to actually be something for people to see when they go looking. So… dates. You and me, looking coupley.”

Oliver swallowed around a suddenly thick tongue. “Coupley. And we do that how…?”

“Um.” She gestured at him vaguely. “Hand holding? Looking… romantic? Thea says we have to practice.”

His face pulled into a bewildered pinch and she winced.

“Thea says we look awkward. Like we’ve ‘never so much as high fived.’” she quoted.

Resignation sank in Oliver’s stomach, and he dipped his chin ruefully. “Ah. We probably should have thought of that.” Felicity shrugged her mouth and raised her eyebrows in silent agreement. “So how are we supposed to fix it? Are you even a PDA person?”

Felicity blew out a long breath and rubbed the bridge of her nose under glasses. “God, we’re supposed to be convincingly _engaged_. We’re going to have to know the answers to all of those kinds of questions.”

The sheer scope of everything they needed to do to prepare for this lie—for however long they would have to pretend at _marriage_ —barreled down on Oliver for a moment like an oncoming train, and for just that moment, he felt utterly unequal to the task.

But this was hardly the first time he’d been ill-equipped or unprepared. He had to start tackling this the way he would a mission. Strategize. Plan. Work with his partner.

Closing his eyes for a second, he inhaled deeply before opening them again. Felicity was looking at him, lost and small and shrinking the longer he kept his silence.

“So we’ll answer them.” He infused his voice with certainty and watched her spine straighten a little, the clouds clear from her brow just a bit. “Together.”

Her lips flickered in the smallest smile, and he gave her the same back.

“So. Are you?”

She blinked and her blush returned full-force. “Um. Do you want the real answer or the one that will be easiest to pull off as a performance?”

He startled, caught off guard by the hint of dismissal in her voice, as if she fully expected him to choose the easy route, the one that would require the least of them—but also gave him another out on needing to _know_ her.

“The truth, please,” he answered softly.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise before she dropped her eyes nervously. “I kind of am. Like. Not slobbery, super-gross or anything, I mean the _degree_ has always kind of depended on the other person, but. Yeah. I like—I like being affectionate.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “I can do that.”

She narrowed her eyes on him suspiciously. “Are you sure? I just—we don’t even really, like… _hug_. OIiver, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not very touchy feely.”

He laughed ruefully. “I can be.” His smile dimmed, thoughts of how easily he’d always hugged Tommy, the happy, simple affection that had always felt so natural in his romantic entanglements. “I used to be.”

To his confusion, her face fell and her shoulders hunched. “You don’t have to. I don’t want you to if you don’t want to. Touch me, I mean.” She rolled her eyes at herself, cringing. “I mean, obviously we kind of don’t have a choice for _some_ touching, but you don’t have to touch me more than we _have_ to you know?”

“Felicity,” he drew her name out with mild exasperation, halting her before she could backtrack herself further into an awkward corner. “It’s okay. We’ll just have to start getting used to it.” He made a decision and reached out his hand across the half a cushion separating them. “To each other.”

She stared at his palm for a moment, hesitant, and then slowly placed her hand in his.

It wasn’t the first time. Not at all.

Felicity’s hand sitting in his, small and soft, slender-fingered, was familiar. She had been right that he wasn’t, in general, as tactile as he had been once. But certain impulses were hard to kill, and the longer he’d known Felicity, the easier it had been to reach for her shoulder, to grip her elbow or cup the curve of her cheek against his palm. Light, quick touches, but he always felt them land.

But as her hand lay in his now, familiar and simple became strange and electrifying.

A hand was such a simple place to start. Her skin caught against his calluses as her palm shifted against his, and he let his fingers extend, the tips brushing against the pulse in her wrist, drawing back to trace the swell of muscle, the fine creases.

Her breath caught in the suddenly thick silence, but Oliver didn’t raise his gaze from their hands. He mirrored her posture and shifted towards her, lifting his other hand to cradle hers between them. He traced one finger along her knuckles, blinking as he noted a thin, pale scar that charted a short line along the skin between her thumb and forefinger.

She exhaled shakily and pressed her fingertips into his palm, smoothing light pressure up over the heel to his wrist. Her own twisted, and her thumb rubbed against his pulse, her fingers curling around the sturdy bones of his wrist. The tiny motion raised a chill across his skin, and he swallowed hard against a sudden heat climbing his spine.

Felicity’s fingers drew back into his palm, pressing and tracing over the hardened calluses from his bow, finding his own faint scars.

He turned his palm against hers, pressing their hands together and lacing his fingers between hers. Drawing in a breath that buzzed inexplicably in his lungs, he raised his eyes to her face. He squeezed her hand, and she lifted her gaze to meet his.

“Can we do this, Felicity?”

Her eyes heavy and solemn, she looked again to their linked hands. “I think we have to.”

She tugged against his fingers to draw her hand back—but Oliver tightened his grip instead. Her eyes flew to his in surprise.

“Not yet,” he answered softly, a little embarrassed by the rasp in his voice. “We have more to talk about.”

“Right,” she breathed quietly, nervously. His thumb began to stroke along the outside of hers and her cheeks pinkened anew. “Um. A lot. A lot to talk about. Like dates. And touching.”

He nodded, his eyes locked on hers as if they were magnetic, her hand feeling more and more as if it _fit_ in his. “I don’t want to ask too much of you, Felicity. Not more than I already am.” She bit at her lips, her fingertips pressing at the back of his hand. “This, touching, acting like we’re… together. I know it isn’t fair. It’s—a lot. I need you to tell me how much you can handle.”

Just that quick, her jaw firmed up and her brows drew together, spine straightening. “I can handle what I need to, Oliver. I’m not fragile.”

“I know,” he answered quickly, even as her bones felt fine as blown glass in his grip. “But that doesn’t mean this won’t be hard. For both of us. We can do this,” he nodded at their hands, “but if just holding hands could sell this, we wouldn’t need a wedding. What else, Felicity?”

“Like...” she licked her lips nervously, fidgeting against the cushions. “Like kissing?”

He hesitated, the rims of his ears going hot. He thought back for a moment to the dark, hollow foyer of his family home, lying about loving her and pushing a syringe into her hand.

He had thought about kissing her then. To really drive the charade home. She had been standing so close, the front of her coat brushing his leathers, her face upturned towards his, eyes clouded and searching, her lips parted. It would have been easy. Half a step. A dip of his head.

For a flicker of a second, he had _wanted_ to. Just wanted to.

And that was why he had stepped back instead. A kiss in the middle of a farce wasn’t what he’d wanted.

He was struck by the irony that in the end it hadn’t mattered.

“Yes,” he said in a hush.

She looked away and sighed. “Obviously, kissing. We can’t have a wedding without a you-may-now-kiss-the-bride. And it would probably be really awkwardly obvious if that was, like. The _first_ time. So. We’ll have to do that. Sometime.” Suddenly, her head came up, eyes wide and a little panicky. “Eventually! But—not right now?”

His heart pounded, and he wasn’t sure if the little dizziness was relief or disappointment. “Of course. When you’re ready.”

She nodded. “Right. And when you are. Ready, I mean, because you know, you’re in this too, and you have to kiss _me_ , not just the other way around. You being ready matters too.”

His lips quirked up at the corners and he squeezed her fingers again. “When you’re ready, I’ll be ready.”

“Okay,” she murmured faintly. “Then we should talk about other things. Not kissing. Because now I’m just thinking about kissing you and the million ways I’m probably going to embarrass myself and getting way more nervous about it.”

“Hey.” He leaned towards her, brows pinched. “Just focus on this for now.” He lifted their joined hands a little higher, unlacing his fingers from hers and curling the backs of his knuckles against her wrist, drawing them down the soft skin of her forearm til they reached the edge of her sleeve at her elbow, then dragging them upwards again. He met her eyes again as he repeated the path. “We’ll go slow. Keep talking.”

They spent another hour on details and questions, roughly-sketched rules and loosely-woven backstory. The entire time, they kept contact. The couch cushion between them shrank to nothing and her knee pressed against his thigh. They reached out to touch each other, frequently hesitant as he brushed her hair over her shoulder, often awkward when she smoothed the collar of his shirt, but more and more it got easier.

Most of all, he held her hand, watched as she toyed with his fingers, absorbed the warmth of each other’s skin.

When Oliver left at last, he could already feel some of the details they’d covered receding into a haze of overload, overwhelming and exhausting, too much to hold onto.

But for hours after, his fingertips tingled and his hand felt empty.


	8. Exercises of Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompted by bisexualfelicity, "trust"

“You really think this is going to work?” Felicity asked skeptically, a line drawn between her brows and her lips pulled into a frown. Nervously, she ran her hands down her skirt for possibly the hundredth time, fingers twitching the hem to fall against her thighs just so.

Across from her, Oliver leaned comfortably back into the soft leather seats as the car rolled smoothly down the road. He looked supremely confident and in his element, and though it should have eased Felicity’s own tension, it only made her more anxious.

Just another obvious sign of how poorly they matched. Another reason no one was going to look at _them_ and think “couple.”

Oliver stared out the window at the avenues they passed down, hair freshly trimmed and looking absurdly, deliciously casual in dark wash jeans with the hems rolled up against his boots, his rust-red tee the sort of understated simplicity that somehow only screamed “expensive” more loudly. “I used to hate coming here specifically because of how reliably the vultures circled. If I was going to wind up in the tabloids, I intended to earn it. I never liked being treated like a spectacle when I was just _existing_.”

Checking the button-front of her green and purple checkered sundress yet again, Felicity shook her head. “I still don’t understand why here. It’s a _farmer’s market_.”

Oliver snorted. “Among certain circles, it’s more commonly called the Meat Market. This is where rich and famous people spend their Saturday mornings showing off their new look or how hot they look when ‘slumming’ among the vegetable stalls with whoever they’re ready to be officially seen dating.” His mouth quirked up at one corner in the oddest way; rueful, almost bitter, but with a fondness that spoke to nostalgia. “Or, if you were my Mom’s set of rich-and-famous, it’s where you showed off how ‘real’ you were and how you liked to support local producers of the season’s most fashionable organics.”

The strange smirk slipped a little into melancholy, and Felicity’s heart hurt for him. Moira’s death was still so recent, and their relationship had been tumultuous to the very end. Felicity hadn’t particularly liked Moira Queen, but she had been impressed by her as a woman, and though her flaws and mistakes had been numerous, it had always been clear how fiercely she loved her children.

Over Felicity’s shoulder, the window partitioning away the driver rolled down with a soft whirr, briefly framing Diggle’s profile as he shot them a backward glance. “We’re here.” He paused, then, sardonically, “Don’t get used to this again, kids. My chauffeuring days ended when you let my contract expire, Oliver. This is just until you two get hitched.”

The vehicle slowed to a stop and Felicity pulled her lips into a smile, turning in her seat to blow Digg a teasing kiss in the rearview. “You know I love you for it.”

His eyes crinkled in the little reflection, the suggested smile her only answer.

Her stomach erupting into fluttering nervousness all over again, Felicity turned back around, smoothing her skirt yet again.

Oliver waited for her patiently, his fingers curled around the door latch as he regarded her with a small, fond smile. She tried to return it, but whatever Oliver saw made his brows twitch together and his head tilt to the side. “You’re sure about this, Felicity? There’s still time to just turn the car around and go home. We can figure something else out.”

She drew in a deep, steadying breath, counting down from three in her head as she tried to wrestle her nerves under control. She squeezed her eyes shut and scrunched up her face, shaking her head in a quick jerk from side to side, her carefully curled loose hair swinging against her mostly bare shoulders. “No. We don’t have time to come up with anything else, and--and I’m committed to this.” She opened her eyes and looked at Oliver resolutely, nodding sharply. “I can do this.”

He smiled in answer. “Okay.”

Felicity sat at the edge of her seat, lilac fingernails biting into the soft leather. She willed herself to rise, to push up, for her legs to straighten and propel her forward. Towards Oliver. Towards the door. Towards whatever absurd future waited for them beyond it.

 _It’s just a farmer’s market_ , she chided herself silently. But her knees, traitorously, shook.

“I can do this,” she whispered again, more to herself than to either of the men.

Letting go of the door, Oliver leaned towards her, dipping his head to catch her eyes. “ _We_ can do this.” He extended a hand to her, palm up, offering, waiting. “Trust me?”

She did. She trusted him with her life.

It was her heart she was worried about.

Shoving that unwanted thought far, far away, Felicity blew out a shaky breath and forced her fingers free of the seat. Slowly, she slid her hand into Oliver’s, the warm rasp of her palm over his growing familiar, even as it still scattered electricity up her arm and into her chest.

“Always.”


	9. Running Towards the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "fire" prompted by bisexualfelicity on tumblr

“Sexy Secretary?” Felicity spat, lip curling. Outrage popped and crackled up her spine like sparks igniting as she quoted: “‘Sexy Secretary Bedfellows With Queen.’”

The couch creaked a little as Oliver shifted his weight beside her. “I don’t know why you’re reading that garbage.”

Felicity scowled, not tearing her eyes from the screen of her laptop as she scrolled down the newsfeed. “Because we need to see if our plan is _working_ , Oliver,” she grumbled. Fingernail scratching irritably against the edge of the mousepad, she glared harder at the list of trashy tabloid headlines. “Just because we need them doesn’t mean I appreciate the reliability of their misogyny.”

He sighed. His hand landed on her back and she startled beneath the touch. He hesitated, but determinedly rubbed a soothing path between her shoulder blades. Just as deliberately, she leaned back into it.

It might not be natural quite yet, but after a moment it at least didn’t feel totally awkward anymore. It was even almost nice.

_From Girl Friday To Girlfriend?_

_Oliver Queen Caught With Former Secretary On Arm_

_Queen’s Assistant Blows To The Top!_

_That_ , however, was decidedly not.

“It’s just like last fall all over again,” she muttered, exhaling heavily. “Just when the ‘did you interview for this position on your knees’ cracks had finally died down.”

Oliver’s hand stopped its motions abruptly and she could practically hear his teeth grinding as he leaned closer to read her screen. “They shouldn’t talk about you like that. Nobody should have. I’m sorry, Felicity. It was my fault then and it’s my fault now.”

Despite a creeping flush at the brush of his side against her arm, Felicity rolled her eyes. “Not everything’s your fault, Oliver. I mean, yes, you definitely weren’t considering my reputation last year when you pushed me to play your EA, but the gross, sexist vulturism of the tabloid press is not actually your personal responsibility.”

She turned her head to soften the bite in her words with a wry lift of her brows and a tight, small smile. He studied her face with a grave expression, obviously unconvinced. He was always so quick to gather up all the angst and guilt around him and make it his own.

With a sigh, Felicity leaned into him to nudge him teasingly. “Do I need to remind you how we wound up in this particular mess? That was _my_ screw up.” She pulled a face thoughtfully and amended, “And technically, it’s Waller’s fault we’re doing something this ridiculous and exposing ourselves to the seamy speculation of the paparazzi, so really, if we’re going to sit here assigning blame, we should make sure to portion it out fairly.”

Her little tangent drew the amused huff from him she had hoped for and Oliver relaxed a bit, his eyes soft on her face and lips curling at the corners. “Seamy?” he teased lightly.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “It felt like the right vocabulary choice given the context.” He chuckled, but she let her smile fade a little. “But seriously, Oliver. When I agreed to do this, I knew we’d be facing this kind of thing. I took the time to think about it because I knew…” she trailed off, eyes searching the ceiling for the right words. “I knew this was going to be the kind of pretend that’s real enough that the consequences would _be_ real.” Swallowing against a sudden dryness in her mouth, she asked in a small, dubious voice, “Did you?”

They were still pressed up close, side by side, her shoulder almost tucked beneath his. His hand was still spread over her back, a warm weight she was at turns hyper conscious of and sinking into the comfort of. He drew a long breath, his face serious as his gaze sketched the lines of hers. “I did. I just… there’s knowing it and there’s… living through it, you know?”

She licked her lips, butterflies erupting in her stomach as his eyes followed the motion. “Yeah.”

And did she ever.

It was one thing to think through the details and effects and agree to a sham marriage with Oliver Queen to protect their team from becoming a black ops tool in Amanda Waller’s offbooks arsenal, but the reality was just so much _more_.

It was the heat of his knee bumping up against her thigh. The subtle headiness of his aftershave, rich and nuanced with a surprising spice from this close. It was his lips parting as his eyes caught on her mouth, and knowing she was supposed to learn how to _kiss_ him, and not to confuse a dress rehearsal for any kind of reality.

Abruptly, Felicity cleared her throat and turned back to her laptop, raising finely trembling fingers to lower the screen before she leaned forward to move it to the coffee table.

Oliver’s hand, still on her back, slid up to the base of her neck as she straightened.

Felicity’s breath caught, a zing of electricity lifting the hairs on her arms as Oliver’s fingertips ghosted up the back of her neck to play at the little curling wisps at her nape that escaped her ponytail.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down, staring straight ahead as her heart thundered wildly in her chest.

“Felicity.” Oliver all but sighed her name, hushed and a little reluctant, a little sorrowful, a little adamant.

Nervously, Felicity burst into a short giggle, tipping her head back to look at the ceiling. This only pressed Oliver’s fingertips more firmly to the base of her skull, slipping into the hair there. “You’re getting good at that,” she babbled with a false brightness. “The causal touching, I mean, obviously, not saying my name. Not that you weren’t always good at saying my name, I mean, god, not in like, a weird way or a _sexual_ way, you just, you have good enunciation and honestly, have you ever noticed how you say my name sometimes? You hit all the syllables in this like _really_ specific way and come to think of it, I don’t think anybody else has really said it like that before, I guess it’s just an Oliver thing.” She turned her face away from him, cringing even as her mouth only ran further away with her and the pad of Oliver’s thumb rubbed a little circle behind her ear. “But you’re really getting good at touching me—I mean touching me like it’s a _thing_ that we do that’s normal or something, I mean—”

“ _Felicity._ ” There was a laugh bubbling under that oh-so-specific shaping of her name, a fondness only faintly tinged by exasperation as he mercifully cut her off from what was quickly becoming one of her more gloriously ridiculous rambles.

Less mercifully, his hand dragged slowly down the side of her neck before he crooked his fingers under her chin and gently turned her head back to face him.

Oliver sighed softly, lips quirked up at the corners as his eyes sketched over her face. Felicity bit her lip, and he gently tugged it free, the pressure of his thumb and the scrape of her teeth lifting the hairs all along her arms.

“I know,” she groaned quietly. “I know. We—we have to. It’s just…”

“We don’t have to,” Oliver countered, head shaking slightly. Even so, his thumb traced from the corner of her mouth to slide beneath the full swell of her lower lip before he ghosted his knuckles across her cheek, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “We don’t have to if you’re not ready. Or if you don’t want to. We can find another way.”

It was Felicity’s turn to sigh, her fingers curling over his wrist as his fingers slipped back into her hair, his thumb tracing up the shell of her ear to her piercing. She turned her head just enough to look at the laptop shut on the coffee table. “It’s a little too late for that.”

Oliver said nothing, just drew his hand back to graze his fingertips under the line of her jaw, waiting for her cue.

She took two careful, measured breaths before raising her gaze to his again. “We can do this. Right?” She summoned a smile, unsteady and uncertain though it was. “What’s the big deal, right? It’s just…” her voice weakened at the end as some light in Oliver’s eyes inexplicably dimmed. “Selling it,” she finished on a breath.

Oliver’s lips parted slowly and he seemed to choose his words. “We can do this,” he redirected at last. “You and me.”

With a little laugh, Felicity shoved away the little bloom of sadness in her chest and leaned instead into a more reliable warmth. She smiled and guided his hand to her face, leaning her cheek into his palm.  “Partners.”

He smiled back, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Still my girl?”

Wryly, Felicity teased, “I’m marrying you, aren’t I?”

He ducked his head with a huff of amusement.

Sudden nerves burst to buzzing life again in her stomach, and she blurted, “We are talking about the practice kissing right now, right? I mean, talking about doing that? Now?”

Oliver’s head threw back with a deep, shimmering laugh of genuine delight. Still chuckling, he set both hands on her shoulders and leaned forward to press a surprising kiss to her forehead. “Yes,” he confirmed as he pulled back enough to meet her eyes. “We’re talking about practice kissing. Right now.”

Contrary to his steady reassurance, Felicity’s nervousness only grew like a swarm of bees, the fluttering and buzzing spreading into her chest and up her backbone. “Oh. Okay. Oh boy. Um?” She wrinkled her nose and cast around the room as if her cozily cluttered living room was hiding her confidence. “Should I go brush my teeth first? Oh god, what did I even eat for lunch?” She squinted down at her knee like the textured lines of her jeans would jog her memory, voice falling to a mumble as she mostly asked herself, “Did I eat something with onions…?”

“ _Felicity._ ” There was that so very particular shaping of her name again. Oliver’s hand cupped her cheek and drew her head back up so she looked him in the eye. His face was written in fondness and patience. “Your breath is fine.”

“Okay,” she muttered, clearing her throat.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her spine and did a little awkward shuffle in her seat to draw in closer to Oliver and better face him. A frown of concentration drew a line between her brows as she lifted one hand and laid it, very slowly, very deliberately, against the side of his neck.

To her shock, she could feel his pulse, a thrumming, tripping rush beneath her fingertips. Her eyes flew to his, her lips parting.

Wetting his lips, he gave her a little smile. “Yeah. I’m nervous too.”

“Oh!” she breathed. “Good.” He blinked, and she broke out in a giggle. “I mean, that helps.” Smiling up at him, she slid her palm against his neck til the short hair at his nape tickled under her nails. She stroked her thumb over the stubbled corner of his jaw, feeling electric and bold. “It helps.”

“Felicity,” he murmured, head bending. His nose brushed hers, just at the end, and she gasped. “We should stop talking.”

“Right,” she exhaled, hypnotized by how near he was, how long his lashes were from this close. A thought popped in her head like a bursting soap bubble and she jerked against Oliver’s loose hold on the back of her neck. “Wait! Should I take off my glasses? It’s just, they can get in the way, I’ve had complaints—”

“Shh,” Oliver sighed, head tilting as he brushed their noses together again. “I’m supposed to be your fiance. I should know how to kiss you with your glasses on.”

“Oh.” Somehow, that matter of fact statement was more thrilling and strangely _settling_ than anything else. Her fingers curled against his neck, fingernails scratching lightly.

He _shivered_.

With a little gasp, Felicity tipped her head back, lips parting as Oliver’s nose bumped hers again. His breath fanned over her mouth and chin, a warm ghosting of sensation like a prelude of touch.

At last, Oliver’s bottom lip brushed across her mouth, a soft, glancing introduction. By instinct, her lips pressed to catch him, but he was already gone. Then, there again, the beard on his chin tickling against hers as his lips skimmed across hers, mouth open and breath mingling.

“Oliver,” Felicity breathed, the two syllables another feather-light contact between them.

His other hand rose to cup the back of her head in both broad palms and his full bottom lip caught against her upper, a gentle, teasing drag.

Frustrated, impatient, Felicity cupped the back of Oliver’s neck with sudden insistence and pressed forward, catching his gasp into her own mouth as she slid her parted lips firmly over his.

One hand bracing against his firm chest, she caught that teasing lower lip between hers, and with a sound more sigh than voice, Oliver returned the full measure of her pressure.

The first kiss.

For just a moment, it lingered. The catch of his skin on hers, an adjustment of angle. A single breath passed between her lips to his lips and back again.

The second quickly followed. A warm, wet glide, a surer press. The slightest brush of the very tip of his tongue.

Felicity’s fingers wound into the collar of Oliver’s shirt and she lost track of where one kiss ended or began, or if it was all the same one, flowing back and forth, a living, electric current.

Their mouths parted and slid together, learning, exploring. A tactile map of territory uncharted.

He liked the fit of her lower lip between his, she learned, liked to pull and suck at it. She thrilled to discover how he gasped and shivered with a nip or scrape of teeth.

Nervousness dissolved in the growing warmth between them, lost to a fire stoking slowly, hungrily higher as Oliver’s hands found her waist and back, squeezed her in his grip or pressed her closer. Felicity’s palms drifted over his shoulders, his chest, confirming the shape and solidity of him. At last, they curled around his jaw, fingers cradling his head as she leaned into him.

The first touch of his tongue on hers was like holding a live wire in her mouth. Shocking, exhilarating, drowning out the world around them and its petty trappings. She couldn’t say who took the initiative, in the moment; it wasn’t about dominance or control. It was a negotiation without words, give and take, an ongoing chain reaction.

Heat consumed her, rising from his skin and absorbed into hers and given right back. It pooled and stoked in her belly, blazing a slow but inexorable path up her spine, concentrating under the delicious weight of his palm.

Everything but the fire fell away.

Her nerves, the fears at their roots, and the years-old scars underneath them. The words on her laptop lost meaning, and took with them the _whys_ of what had brought them here, what had put his hands on her and her lips on his.

It didn’t _matter_.

What mattered was the sigh that sounded almost like her name, exhaled into her mouth. Her fingers curled and her nails scratched ghostly trails against his scalp as she gently bit down on his bottom lip, and when she soothed it with her tongue, he _moaned_. Satisfaction curled her lips even as he kissed them.

That fire in her belly roared, threatened to devour her and leave nothing but ash.

But what a lovely way to burn.

The tip of Felicity’s tongue curled, flicked at Oliver’s lips, playful, exploratory, and with a gasp and moan, he slanted his mouth hard across hers, his fingers gripping and grasping.

The next stroke of his tongue on hers was a scorch of heat—but the jar and jostle of her glasses against his nose was a bucket of cold water.

They jolted apart as Felicity’s glasses slipped crookedly down her face, unhooking from one ear and tangling in the pulled-back hair over the other.

“Damn,” Oliver exhaled, his voice the airy, soft-rough of raw silk as his fingers slid from from their purchase on her hip and neck to gently remove her glasses. “Sorry.”

Blinking at the shift in focus, Felicity surprised herself with a giggle that bubbled up from her stomach and spilled light and frothy from her lips.

Oliver stared at her for a moment as she laughed again, his lips slowly spreading in a smile that reflected her surprise and humor in the crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

“Well, um,” Felicity pressed her fingertips to her buzzing, swollen lips. “I guess we’re pretty good at that.”

Oliver’s adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow before he cleared his throat, the rims of his ears turning red as he glanced away, looking unexpectedly bashful—all but for the faintly satisfied curl in the corner of his mouth. “Well. I suppose we are.” His gaze settled on the glasses he still held between his hands before he raised his eyes to meet hers with a rueful smirk. “Though I guess I’ve got a little work to do still.”

Felicity’s breath caught at the suggestion in his eyes and she let her hands catch her weight against the cushions as she sat back a little.

The fire flickered low in her stomach, promising the warmest, loveliest burn if she just let it consume her, consume them both.

Gulping a little, Felicity swallowed new nerves and worries that settled into the embers in her gut to bank the heat as she rolled her lips between her teeth. “I…” she blinked slowly at Oliver as she tried to grasp at words through the cloud of steam that wanted to fill her head. One long breath in, out, and: “Yes. I guess we do.”

Oliver’s brows pulled slowly together at the hint of reluctance in her tone.

Shifting in her seat, Felicity’s knee bumped against Oliver’s—and she jerked it quickly away. He frowned down at it, and Felicity cursed her heart and her libido and threw herself at reason like it was a life raft. “We’re going to have to be careful, Oliver.”

He brought his gaze back up to hers, his expression sobering, and Felicity filled his patient quiet with words.

“I mean. The kissing. And, you know, other stuff. Touching each other and being together. For pretend.” She gestured vaguely between them with hands that felt like birds battering at cage bars, desperate to flee. “We were _really_ good at that. The kissing just now, I mean.” She grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut for a second. “Or maybe that was just me! I don’t know, I feel like asking ‘was it good for you too’ here is a little crass and totally beside the point anyways.”

“Felicity.”

A warm, steady hand fell on her knee with that calm recitation of her name, and Felicity squinted one eye open, then the other. Oliver was looking at her in that impossible to read, impossible not to _over_ -read way, his head tilted to one side as he sought eye contact, something like amusement or affection softening his eyes and ghosting a curve over his lips.

One eyebrow rising, a little twinkle lighting in his eyes, Oliver offered her a little crooked smile. “It was good for me too.”

Just like that, she burst into another laugh, and some of the winding tension and nervousness in her chest unspooled with relief. She lightly smacked at his chest, and he caught her hand against his shirt, holding it there.

“I understand, Felicity,” Oliver rumbled, low and sure and reassuring. She felt his voice in his chest beneath her hand, and she did her best not to let the fire rise all over again as he tapped his fingertips against her knuckles. “We can’t get carried away. We’re partners, and there’s just too much riding on the two of us pulling this off.”

Even though she’d been the one to douse the flames with this very sound logic to begin with, she couldn’t help her chin dipping in a nod that was at least a little disappointment.

 _Damn_ her heart.

Oliver’s touch slid from her hand, down her wrist, until he lifted his fingertips to her chin to raise her head. He leaned in and was suddenly _very_ close, his breath fanning across her face, as he breathed, “No matter how good we may be at _this_.” His lips brushed hers, once, twice, the lightest phantom of a kiss.

He sat back again and nodded to himself, then looked down at the glasses folded carefully in his other hand. Extending the arms, he raised them delicately between his hands and slipped them back onto her face, as if he were placing some barrier between them.

“We can do this,” he said, the confidence in his voice faltering only slightly as he asked her, “Right, Felicity?”

Raising her hands to adjust her glasses on the bridge of her nose, Felicity tried to find her own confidence, but feared it had gone up in the flames. Exhaling more shakily than she would like, she nodded firmly, trying to project certainty anyways. “Right.”


End file.
